


our love would be tragic (oh yeah)

by Turtleneck (caretta)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Body Horror, Do Not Archive, M/M, Other, Skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 23:05:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17734364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caretta/pseuds/Turtleneck
Summary: Tim faces his obsession with the help of a monster. Ft. Danny’s Skin.





	our love would be tragic (oh yeah)

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler to end of ss3.

Tim stopped dead at the door to his apartment. Usually, he couldn’t wait to get in. Strip, get rid of that moldy archive smell, then pass out drunk on the sofa hoping he’d be hungover enough to call in sick the next day. That never worked, of course — that Elias bastard always fucking _knew_. He just kept doing it though, bitterly aware that he was clinging on to normal life by choosing to be unconscious for the majority of it. 

Today was different, some how. No particular reason, he just knew. Danny had always said that he had spidey senses, and right now those senses were screaming at him to get the fuck away from that door, something dangerous was in there, he was about to get killed. 

‘Oh please, baby bro,’ Tim said to the voice in his head. ‘I think that ship sailed a long time ago.’

He twisted the door knob. 

Inside wasn’t dark, which surprised him. He thought whatever woohoo was out to get him would have preferred the horror route. Strange shape in the corner, jump-scare from the ceiling, bloody trail, that sort of thing. But no, this fuckpiece obviously wanted him to be able to see clearly, and standing there with a rising mixture of disgust, anger, and dread, Tim understood why.

The door shut itself behind his back.

The thing on the sofa stood up to greet him. Baby face, charming eyes. Real emotions behind that smile, even, tipping a hair above uncanny so that it seemed like it was a tad bit worried instead of not-human. “What took you so long?” It said, taking one step towards him, “I thought you would never come home, I even got you some cool stuff!”

It looked at him, faking earnestness, and had the audacity to pout a little. Tim wanted to puke. 

“Do it,” he said. “You’re here to skin me, go ahead and do it. If not, jump the windows or do the reverse of however the fuck it was you got in. And don’t leave any weird shit on the sofa, I need to sleep there.”

He went to get a drink from the kitchen. His back turned to the thing, because he didn’t care, didn’t care, didn’t care. The Unknowing had sent an agent wearing Danny’s skin to reap him, or worse, to flaunt his failures, his uselessness in his face. He should have known this would happen. He got off too easily, people getting involved in this kind of shit never got off easily. Of course it would do this to torment him. That was just the life of Timothy Stoker. 

“No love for me? Of course, I only did that when I was five, didn’t I? Mum had to work late again, but it was your birthday, I did everything I could to cheer you up. I pretended empty beer cans were a cake, I shredded my crafts papers for confetti. Didn’t you love me then, Tim? Mom yelled for days but you loved me, all of me—“

“Shut up,” Tim said, putting his beer down to grab a kitchen knife. “I saw that skin getting ripped off once, I don’t mind doing it again—“

“But it’s me!” It said, the hurt almost real enough. “I have my body, I have my skin! The skin has all the memories, so in sum wouldn’t that make the whole me? My skin still loves you, why can’t you just acce—“

It didn’t dodge, but his throw still missed. Mostly missed. The bottle grazed its right temple before crashing into the wall. It didn’t even flinch, just raised a hand to pull one eye corner back where it should be. 

If evil could show despondence, the look it had then would be close enough.

“What about high school, then? I remember that too. I remember you showing me those magazines, I didn’t know what was happening when my peepee got hard and you just kept laughing ‘cause that was the April’s Fool issue with a guy dressed in lingerie on the cover...”

Tim felt the air punched out of him. He blindly grabbed a chair and sat, almost doubled down. He knew what was coming. Closed his eyes and tried to remember Danny, _his_ Danny, perfect and alive, untouched, _untainted_...

“When it wouldn’t stop, I asked you why. You told me to push my pants down, then you would show me... You had something strange in your eyes then... Why didn’t you tell me, Tim? Did you hope that I would forget? Chalk it up to youthful experiments, just brothers helping each other out? I pretended for you, yeah, but I always knew. Why did you think I left as soon as I could? You had always been so kind to me, so supportive. Such a good big brother. I would look at you sometimes and wonder, was it my fault? Did I do something wrong? What could I possibly have done, to make my own brother want to f—“

“Danny...” 

It was only when he spoke up that Tim realized his voice was hoarse. 

At least that thing stopped. Looked at him and waited, anticipation glinting in depthless eyes. 

“If... you’re Danny at all,” he dragged his throat, puling each halting sound, “if you have his memories, if you... love me... Don’t.”

For a while, everything was still. The treetop visible outside his windows, dust particles hanging in the air, those eyelashes that had always been a bit too long, too _pretty_ for a man’s face. Clear, unblinking eyes, because blinking required automatic reflexes of a body that was still alive. 

The skin, however, that could still be arranged to display a smile. 

“Dearest Tim,” it said, this time gleefully gentle, “you know very well that I’m none of those things.”

***

He went home, and it was there again. 

“I tried something new,” it said, twirling in soft yellow light. “I think it worked, I feel different. So much lighter, for one. Do you like it?”

Tim looked, and that was true. The skin actually sit right, no longer bunched up in some places while slipping off the muscles in others. The thing took his hand to press against his face, he jumped before realizing that it actually felt warm. Yielding, but firm, like real people should, like skin and body is one, like if he cut its throat out would come hot blood. 

Then the tip of his thumb felt a small bump. 

“Whoops,” it said, pulling back. “Work-in-progress.” When it tried to smile, Tim could appreciate the effort put into lips, teeth and gums. “I’m almost there, just need a feel more parts. Breekon & Hope are being a real pain, that’s what happens when they hold the monopoly on body parts delivery...”

Tim tried to think up something to say. ‘No honey, those hides don’t make your ass look fat’? Instead he took both of its hands, holding them palms-up. They smelled of formaldehyde, of course, he’d learned to ignore that, but leaning closer he could see somewhat realistic blue veins running under the meat of the thumb. Before he was aware, a word had slipped out, 

“Incredible.”

When Tim looked up, the thing was beaming. 

“Really? You think so?”

He closed his eyes, couldn’t bear how closely it fitted the image of his brother. Subconsciously, he squeezed its hands. Nothing cracked, nothing spilled out. Instead, it squeezed back. 

***

With everything that was going on, some how Tim still dreamed. Bog-standard dreams, to the point that he thought it was his subconsciousness’ ploy to avoid Beholding detection. Sometimes he was running slowly, chasing Danny to no avail. Sometimes he went back to that theater, but the clown and Danny’s skinless body just laughed at his nakedness. Sometimes Danny’s head and his teeth fell off at the same time. He never felt anything within those dreams, neither rage nor grief, yet when he woke up his face would be all wet. _Useless, pathetic, empty_ , he would mutter as he angrily washed off and went to “work.”

“My skin dreams of you, too,” the thing told him two weeks after it first appeared. 

“Great, now you’re staying the night. What’s next, you’re making me breakfast?”

He pushed its face aside to get to the bathroom, walking quickly so as not to linger on how much it looked like Danny now. Blinking, breathing, _real_ and _alive_ in all but the spirit of those two words. Even the formaldehyde had more or less faded, its body now producing enough musk to blend with his surroundings. It had spent so much time in his room, his clothes, his bed, that it now smelled like a thing of _his_ , like it belonged here. Tim stopped short of wondering how it would feel _inside_. Just no. He had no point of comparison, he had no—

Tim managed to get off the train that day before being sick all over the pavement. 

***

Elias commended his recent work ethics before slinking into the office. That dog-faced bastard. Tim didn’t bother asking if he knew what had become his new roommate. If Elias knew, he obviously didn’t want to lift a finger to intervene. Fuck Jon, to hell with Martin, damn the women also. He didn’t need, and wouldn’t ask their help. Either he died or he didn’t. Skinned alive or no, Tim couldn’t give a rat’s ass. 

Caught between hating the Archive and not wanting to go home, he ended up wandering the streets for hours, buying up newspapers that he couldn’t read a word before it was too late and it was either go back or get mugged. What greeted him behind the door, looked like a kindergartener’s earnest, yet sloppy attempt to clean up after bringing mud into the house. If the mud had been viscera. That would take some ‘splaining to the landlord down the lines, Tim thought idly. At least there wasn’t any human part rolling around that he could see. 

Tim found it in the shower, staring in wonder at some spot on its left wrist. When he reached to turn the knob, the water was scalding. Anyone would have yelped, but of course it felt nothing. Why would he expect anything else? The thing showed its wrist to him,

“Look, look what it’s doing. I didn’t notice, but it started doing that by itself! Feels so weird, like a crowd is clapping under my skin. Is it always like that for you?”

Tim felt bitterness creeping at the back of his tongue. 

“Why are you here, Danny?”

The thing looked back at him. 

“You’ve done it all. Congratulations, you broke me,” Tim said, didn’t bother hiding how tired he felt. “What else— what more do you want from me?”

Then, he heard it. What the thing had wanted to show him. 

From its chest, softly rising and falling, was the distinct ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump of a frantically working heart, pumping blood to overheated body parts, making it flush in a lovely shade all over. 

Like Danny would, if he had been here. Naked, fresh from a shower, blinking droplets of water from long eyelashes. But this wasn’t Danny. Decidedly. Nothing at all like Danny. That meant Tim could touch all he want, taste all he want. He wouldn’t smell like anything but Tim’s shampoo, wouldn’t look at him with accusing eyes. Wouldn’t hate him. Wouldn’t laugh at him, and call him useless. 

“Call me Dan, then,” it said, noticing his erection. 

And that was that. 

***

Danny was crying. He had his back to Tim, but a big brother always knew. His fists were squeezed tight, shoulders rigid and voice thick. 

“Was it anything I did?”

Tim sighed, “Danny—“

“No, you owe me this,” Danny cut him off. “I deserve to know, tell me.”

***

“Was it anything I did? Tell me.”

Dan had its lips on Tim’s Adam’s apple. Not kissing, not biting, just pressed there, moving against skin when it talked. 

“I thought you were Dan?” Tim said, pulling Dan’s waist further up on his body so his hands could comfortably reach its ass. It still didn’t feel all that right, just close enough that Tim could ignore the kinks. Or focus on them, to remind himself over and over how this _wasn’t_ Danny. 

“Yes, but that’s not why you want me. And this is what I want. Tell me.”

Tim had never dug partners that talked too much during foreplay. 

“Fine,” he said, scooting up until he was sitting with his back against the headboard. He had not touched this bed in forever, could not scrub the image of Danny crying in the armchair out of his head, neither could he move anywhere else. So he just slept on the sofa. And now Dan was here, pushing back onto his fingers, nails scratching lightly on his chest, cock leaking a bit much for the real thing but still believable. Clenching wetly, urging him to spill secrets. Tim bit Dan’s collarbone to keep him still, one hand kept his cheeks spread while the other pushed his way in. 

It didn’t feel like any human would feel, man or woman. Human organs had structure, for one, not just soft flesh that bore down and around, that he could push in any direction he wanted. Figured faking the entire anatomy set would be too time-consuming. It still felt hot, which was a relief, and the lube helped make it feel like a particularly yielding fleshlight. The rim could clench a little, too; this really was the best that Dan could do. 

Tim closed his eyes. Yeah, he wanted this. Sex with a monster was what he deserved. Was he any better, himself? Tim held Dan’s waist, started fucking up while Dan rocked back onto him, whimpering as its carefully arranged internals got stirred up in strange new ways. “I’ve always wanted you, Danny,” Tim said between grunts, not bothering to deny the obvious anymore. “It’s not anything you do, it’s all of you. Dad was a bastard and mom was never home, you were all I had. I practically raised you, watched you grow up handsome and brilliant and passionate, the best thing any brother could have hoped for. I’m so proud of you, Danny. We didn’t need to talk much, I knew you would always come back to me. In the end you still needed me. You were mine...”

He felt a finger glide up his cheek. When it came away, it glistened. 

“Then why would you need to cry?”

Oddly strong arms pushed him back, pinning him, then Danny began to ride him in earnest. Or Dan, why should he care? Tim laughed into his tears. This was the only way he could touch Danny, a bag of skin that contained nothing of him. While before he had Danny, but could never touch him. What a miserable freak you are, Tim Stoker! He fought the pinning hand, gripped Dan’s neck to pull him closer. 

“Now you tell me,” he said, his own skin breaking into an impossibly feral smile. “Where’s Danny?”

That thing broke away from his grip, still grinding down on his cock, cackling, tossing off that soft agreeable veneer. “Where’s Danny? He ain’t here! May be he’s dancing somewhere, may be he’s already fed to the boss! Why would you care? He’s not even your full brother! You never told him, did you? Why you father left, why your family fell apart, all because he was born! No, you were too happy to keep him to yourself. You could never tell him the truth, because then he would have a reason to leave you. Hell, he was half out of your life already, he never cared if you answered his texts or not! He only wanted someone to listen, it never mattered if it was you—“

The kitchen knife hit a snag two inches in, like a thin layer of foam, but he kept pushing and it went the rest of the way easily. He flipped the flailing body so he lied on top of it, continued fucking it even when he stabbed it again and again. _Some_ blood did seep out, but the rest was oozing thick and white like brain matter. He watched Danny’s face turning side to side in the struggle, mouth hanging open, death throes virtually indistinguishable from pleasure onslaught. _How fucking fitting_ , he chuckled, and came, pressing both hands on the knife’s handle to keep that twitching thing pinned to the bed. 

To be honest, Tim expected that to be his end. But the moment he pulled out, there was some complicated twisting movements before a mangled frame with hanging bits of flesh jumped out his windows, leaving the torn skin still stuck under the knife. Tim waited a while, then gingerly picked it up, afraid it would suddenly spring to life. 

Apparently not. It was just dead skin. 

His brother’s skin. 

“I’ll find the rest of you,” he whispered, caressing a limp cheek before gathering it into a bag. That familiar feeling was back again, making his hair stand on ends. 

“Thanks, you bastard,” he said to whoever had been watching. 

***

There wasn’t a “place”. There wasn’t a “him”. There was only a “hand”. In that hand, was a “detonator”. 

The skinless bodies kept whirling as maddening music blared through his core. One of them caught his eyes in a flash of recognition, mouthing something at him, pleading and bloodied. 

“See? I kept my word,” he smiled, then pressed the button. 

End.


End file.
